


Always a choice

by redlizzie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlizzie/pseuds/redlizzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I fell hard into the Teen Wolf fandom and tripped over Sterek.</p><p>You always have a choice, until you don't - part 1.</p><p>Sterek - Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The most annoying thing about the whole situation is one he doesn't even want to put into words. Isn't sure how. He's supposed to be focused on finding the Alpha, helping the newly awakened Beta pup and bringing order to his neck of the woods. That's his purpose right now. It's logical. His human side understands it, mostly. His wolf side knows the importance of it. But there's something that niggles at the base of his skull, hums softly under his skin, permeates his senses until he cannot breathe. Stiles. 

Who in the hell is this kid anyway? He's always there. Scott's best friend, attached at his hip. The Sheriff's son. Every where he turns, the kid just seems to be there. Like an irritating itch that he just cannot reach. It's distracting and not helpful to his focus. Even when he's not there, when he finds Scott by himself in some stupid situation, he can smell him on his clothing. A mixture of fresh and clean, a subtle hint of mint, pencil shavings and dry leaves, crisp linen and gasoline. But the most frustrating of all is the underlying tone of salt and sweat and all-boy musk that weaves its way into his brain and awakens his senses, twisting and turning, attaching itself intimately under his skin and refusing to let go. 

It isn't logical. It isn't part of his plan. It doesn't make sense. He growls into the darkness of his room, because he can. It doesn't help. He feels the hot, coiling heat deep within him rising again. His cock twitching hard at the thought of the pale column of skin of his throat, the freckles and moles that dot his skin, the full pink lips and the always present glimmer of indescribable animation in his eyes. He pushes out of his bed and wills the thoughts away. Fucking little brat. He can't quite decide what he wants more - to strangle the living daylights out of him or to push him up against a wall and taste every last inch of his pale, human skin.

He wanders through the house, padding softly in his bare feet and flannel covered legs. He stands and stares out into the forest behind the house, wondering if he should run. Run like his life depended on it. Run with the wind and the rain. He knows its hopeless. He knows that it won't just disappear. He can ignore it but it won't go away. His only saving grace right now is that he can keep things at bay, fill his senses with as much as he can of the boy when he can and simply hope that it will be enough. It has to be enough. 

Dammit Stiles. Get out of my fucking head. But he won't. He knows he won't. The kid for all his long, lanky awkwardness has a strength within that rivals any Beta that Derek could ever hope to have in his pack. He's intelligent and smart in a way that few would understand. He takes risks and puts himself in danger but it's always with a plan. He never carries that acidic stench of downright fear but instead there's a heady mix of anxiety and anticipation which only heightens the arousal in Derek's belly. It's a soulbond, he's absolutely sure of it now. After last night, in the veterinary clinic. He had handed the saw to Stiles and told him to cut off his arm. He felt more than heard Stiles' heart pounding in his chest. The look of disgust on his face. The denial that he would be able to do it. But the split second of understanding in his eyes and the spicy scent of conviction mixed with trust had told a totally different story. But the final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place when he woke up with Stiles draped over him. A sharp, intake of breath, brought everything right down into his soul and now threatened both of their existences. It had burst through his senses and completely overwhelmed him but he had been able to pass it off as part of the whole "almost dying" thing. An essence brimming with panic, anguish, anger but that literally vibrated with desire, devotion, want and need. 

He turned from the window, mirroring the voice in his head that told him to turn away from Stiles. He knew in his heart he never would because his heart wouldn't let him. But he could keep him safe and alive. He was fucked. He scowled at the shadows on the floor. There was no choice to make. He would protect Stiles until his dying day. Because that's what wolves do, they mate for life and even without the actual mating, he would belong to Stiles and Stiles would belong to him. It wouldn't matter if he never knew, Derek would know and that would be enough. He would make it be enough. The moonlight shone brightly through the window and warmed his skin. A sense of peace washed over him at his decision. No longer a battle or struggle to ignore or refuse the longings within him. This, perhaps was his purpose all along. Not to be selfish and build a pack of his own. Not to get revenge over the murders of his family. But to find his soulbond and protect him in every single way, like a mother protects her pups. He smiled softly to himself as the warmth spread under his skin and filled his heart. Then walked slowly to the front door as his ears picked up the familiar sound of a battered jeep about a mile down the road heading his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2
> 
> You always have a choice, until you don't
> 
> Sterek - Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski

He lay flat on his back staring at the constellations moving slowly across his ceiling in all their projected glory. His father had bought the lamp for him years ago at the recommendation of a therapist to help with his ADD. It had been his saving grace many, many times. The points of light were like plotting points of a graph or the dots from the dot to dot books he has loved as a child. They ordered his mind, calmed his erratic thoughts, helped him to organize the scattered brain waves. He didn't use it much anymore. But tonight. Well, tonight, his brain waves were a little more than scattered. 

Scott was a werewolf. A real werewolf. Why it didn't scare him, he wasn't entirely sure even though Scott had actually tried to kill him now, twice. He felt a twinge of guilt at once again getting his best friend in the whole world into trouble. Trouble, this was more than trouble. But somehow the guilt was overpowered by the excitement of just having something less than boring happen in the sleepy town of Beacon Hills. Did that make him crazy? That it was his fault Scott had been in the woods that night searching for a dead body because he had once again hacked into the police radio and that Stiles had been apprehended by his dad and therefore left Scott alone in the woods to be bitten. He hadn't died. So that was a thing. And Scott was a little edgy about the whole thing but he hadn't totally freaked out. Besides life was a whole lot more interesting since that night. Interesting in the form of one scruffy, snarly, werewolf. Derek Hale. 

He groaned as images of Derek sprung to life in his head. So apparently that was a thing now, too. Tall, dark and brooding. Way too many muscles. Eyebrows that defied all laws of physics because seriously how do you make your eyebrows do those things. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs clad in insanely tight denim. Whoa. Well. Hmm. My thing is doing a thing. He palmed himself through the soft cotton of his boxers, his cock responding immediately to the touch. While Lydia had been the primary source of his fantasies for as long as he could remember, this was different. Achingly different. Rock hard different. A potentially embarrassing I-just-came-in-my-pants different. But somehow that was okay and he wasn't about to start dissecting why. He reached beneath his waistband and let his fingers wander down his length. Crazy. Stupid. Hormones. Pre-cum had already made an appearance and his balls were drawn up tight. He felt a burning deep within his belly, curling and twisting and feeling oh-so-good. Damn. 

This was new, different, unfamiliar, distinct, offbeat. His hand began a familiar rhythm. Derek Hale. A fucking werewolf. Really? A dark and moody werewolf with a fucking attitude. And this? This is what gets you hard enough to cut glass? Jesus H Christ. He moaned softly as he squeezed the base, willing himself to last longer than 3.5 seconds. But that hair, dark and silky that he really just needed to run his fingers through. He twisted his fingers around his shaft, pulling steadily up and down his cock. Those incredible abs that begged to be licked. One. By. One. Eyes that looked right through you. And that voice. When Derek had turned towards him in the jeep, fixating his scowl and glare on Stiles, it had been like nothing else in the universe existed. Then he had threatened with a growl to rip out his throat with his teeth. Which was a fascinating concept. Long white teeth. Full pouty lips. Black as night scruff. Against. His. Neck. Stiles bit his bottom lip and stifled what was most likely an undignified sound as his body flexed and jerked and pearly white stripes painted his chest. Fuck. Shit. Son. Of. A. Silver. Backed. Gorilla. He closed his eyes while the after-shocks registered about a 5.6 on the Richter scale. 

That was unexpected. And nothing. It was as if his brain just shut off, there was no list of synonyms to follow. Just unexpected. He blinked. He couldn't ever remember being at a loss for words. It wasn't bad. It was just....wow....unexpected. He swung his legs off the bed to counterbalance whatever was going on in his head with the reality of cold, hard floor against his feet. He took a deep breath and leaned over to turn off the lamp, hesitating for just a split second as the nearest constellation came into focus. Lupus. He laughed because really what else could he do. He just jerked off to images of a mostly clothed Derek Hale and had the most incredible orgasm of his life which was saying something because he had been practicing for years. (which may or may not have been an attempt at getting into the Guinness book of world records.) And the stars had aligned right in front of his face. 

He apparently grabbed clothes and put them on because the next thing that actually registered in his brain was that he was driving down the back road in his Jeep heading towards the Hale house. Okay, so a point on a graph. Didn't actually mean that he had a plan because sometimes he just took the next step without having an actual plan mapped out. This certainly wasn't part of the plan. Not a conscious one anyway. He slowed down as it began to rain. What the hell was he doing? This was not some guy in Chemistry who would tell him off or the girl with her locker next to his who would slap his face. This was Derek Hale. Who could kill him in less time than it had taken him to come earlier. His dick twitched in his pants. Holy. Hell. Stop that. I'm trying to focus here. Remind me why I thought this was a good idea? Why I decided that my little brain had more sense than my big brain? That I decided it was some ridiculous twist of fate and that driving out in the middle of nowhere to meet up with tall, dark and fang-tooth was the next plot on my graph? How does this even make any sense? To do what? Take one look at the scowling, sexy monster and climb him like an overactive squirrel who just discovered the dregs of a triple espresso at the bottom of a Starbucks cup? His heart was pounding in his chest and his dick was throbbing in his jeans as he turned the Jeep sharply to the right, skidded to a stop and slammed it into park. 

He got out and stood leaning against the door, lifting his chin just slightly to let the cool rain wash down his face and willing his breathing to slow down. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three. Not smart, logical, genius, brilliant, inventive. But it was a step and his feet took over from there because apparently his brain waves were scattered again. He was being watched. He could just feel it. He scanned the lawn and the driveway. Nothing. Then looked up to the doorway. John. Paul. George. And. Ringo. Derek stepped from the shadow of the house and Stiles' mouth went dry. It was highly possible that this was not the most intelligent choice he had ever made as he watched the lean, muscular form stride towards him with a seemingly singular purpose, it suddenly occurred to him that the choice had not been his after all.

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Becca. Comments are like sweet dark chocolate to my soul.


End file.
